


You Wandered Through Fiction

by jesterlady



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: F/M, Gen, One Shot, POV Second Person, Retrospective, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterlady/pseuds/jesterlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very weird thought process of John's through the whole series. It starts with the gas station and ends with him going after her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Wandered Through Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own TSCC. Some lines are from the show and the title is from a song by Goo Goo Dolls

_“You seem different.”_

_“I am.”_

You watch her walk away and you don't know that the cold grip of destiny has just tightened her noose on you. She looked like the epitome of feminine beauty, perfect for you. But later you pick bullets out of her flesh and despite the bare, smooth skin under your fingers, the cold metal that peeks out from under it makes the experience less exciting than it could otherwise have been. She was just a machine, sent to protect you, incapable of...whatever you might have been thinking, but could never possibly think now.

She surprises you on a daily basis. You never know what she will do or say. That's common for a terminator, you think. But she knows things. You don't think she should know these things. You remember having to teach these things before. You remember crying, pleading, desperate as your pupil is lowered into heat so intense you can still feel it on your face. Your view of terminators was changed after him. Now she continues the change and you're not sure you like that.

She endlessly reminds you of her mechanic nature. Your arms were bruised from where she had held you in place, and an innocent, scared girl paid the price for her being a machine. She constantly asks for explanations to normal, every day things. She has no understanding of the sacrament of human life. Except for yours. And you hate her just a little bit for being the exception.

One day she dances. You knew she had been taking ballet lessons as part of a cover, but why she would continue dancing after the job was done, you don't know. You know she would be a good dancer, she can mimic anything. Her strength is unparalleled, her endurance beyond humanity. But it's her grace that makes your gut twist. How any machine could do that seems impossible. 

You have no knowledge of dance. Your childhood consisted of jungles and deserts, guns and knives, tactics and strategy. No beauty or grace allowed except what you made of it. But one Christmas your mother splurged for a motel with a working tv and you'd watched a televised, static-y version of the Nutcracker and the grace had made you cry. She looks like they did. She shouldn't. She does. You don't cry. But you ache inside.

She lies to you and that knowledge hurts more than it should, you think. Why should you care? But you believe her when she says she didn't do anything wrong. Why do you believe her? Something in your mind, something eerily similar to your mother's voice, warns you not to think like that. You always listen to that voice and you do it again today.

You still can't help yourself when she's lying before you and you give in to the temptation to touch her hair. You've done it before, only hours ago, but now there is no one else there and you can really touch it. It's too soft. Too human. You start to wonder how long you can lie to yourself, but, again your mother's voice pushes the thought away. She opens her eyes and you can see eternity in them.

When you think you've lost her, the first wall comes crashing down around you. It is weakened by the other horrible things that happened, that you did, that you can't think about. But she is the catalyst for a premature breakdown. Nothing could ever be more serious, but you're laughing hysterically on the inside as you aim a gun at your family. Are you crazy? Probably. Can you live without her? No, you can't. Her promise is a balm to your wounded soul, but now you're afraid. She knows and you know and you both know the other knows. Everyone else could suspect. But it's impossible and horrible and you refuse to acknowledge what happened. You cut off your hair instead. If you have to hide from her, you won't hide from yourself or your destiny.

You want to be the one in pain and the one hurting. Hadn't you a right to it? She wasn't allowed, she wasn't capable, of it. But she goes haywire in a very different way and your heart palpitates again at the thought of losing her to...being human. She doesn't know you and that hurts worse than anything. It shouldn't. But it does. Your hurt and anger well up and the concern and warmth you feel is overwhelmed by it. The fact that it has scares you.

You run from her and what's worse, she seems confused by it. Which only makes you run faster. She couldn't feel your loss, it's impossible. You say that word a lot to yourself. You find someone else, someone else who isn't as she appears to be. But she's human and that's what matters. Nothing else matters, you tell yourself. You run from your mother for other reasons and your uncle for still others. You stay in one house and run until your feet bleed. How she manages to reach out to you, you don't know, but she does, and you have to actually run away. To Mexico, to all your doom.

You convince yourself she's just a machine, that she can't feel, not even the wind on her face. She tells you you're wrong and, for the first time, your mother's voice doesn't chase away the feeling that she is correct. You can never help but smile when she does something incredibly human. It seems so right. And it's wrong that it seems right. Your head hurts. But you have a job, a destiny, and you might want to think about it now, but you can't.

It's strange to you that after everything, you never doubt her. It might feel better to doubt her, to convince yourself that you're still human, but you can't. No matter the events of your birthday, it has been indelibly printed on your heart that you can't lose her, not ever. It didn't matter what she did. You deny yourself the luxury of intimacy, if that is even possible, but you will not deny yourself presence. To do so would be to go mad. No one else will ever understand that. But she lets you know she does and you constantly play with the reminder of her understanding. It's cold around your neck and against your heart, but you would rather die than use it or have it taken from you. You are a conundrum to yourself.

Finally, when all is gone and you've nothing else, you let the last barrier be stripped away. Because you understand at last and you think there's nothing more human than the two of you together. And you would do anything to make it happen. Human life has always seemed so fragile, but you realize that it is the machines who are in the most danger. All they are is in one place and despite their superior physicality; it can be stripped so easily. No matter what your mother says, you have to believe there is something better after death, something that will keep you from screaming and ranting when someone else always dies for you. But you don't have that hope for her, even if you are coming to believe there is something more than algorithms in her. Not a soul, but a will. Something to build on and you must help her build it. Give her a new built day. Something to celebrate. All the little things.

It is too little, too late. You realize it all too soon when you see her chip is gone. There remains only the one option. Repentance, sorrow, resolution. You will find her. You will say you're sorry. You won't run anymore. You won't let this be the end. Everyone tells you you are a leader, a hero, a savior. You shudder at the words and wonder what the human race will think when they find out you want to save her as much as anyone else. Maybe more. It doesn't matter. She told you that she was different, that she could feel, that she might kill you, that she wanted you to understand. Now you do.


End file.
